


The Moon and the Sun and the Waves Beneath His Feet

by jncar



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Canon Relationships, Character Study, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:59:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncar/pseuds/jncar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milah shines down from the cold moon overhead, Emma stands sun-bright on the land before him, and Hook struggles to navigate the unknown waters of his life. A character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Neverland

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt like writing an ongoing character study of Killian Jones, because I find him fascinating. I have four chapters planned, starting during his first time in Neverland and stretching up to the current episodes. I’ll keep it open-ended in case further episodes continue to inspire me. It’s mostly a look deeper inside Killian’s head, examining his motivations and choices as canon events play out, but also a little bit of a behind the scenes look at what he might have been doing “off-camera” when his story wasn’t featured.

He's tired. Bone-weary, through and through.

A few centuries in Neverland will do that to a man.

The fire for vengeance that first sent him here has long since dulled to a faint ache that adds a sharp edge to the endless weariness, but it no longer drives him as it once did. What's the point of fire when there's nothing to burn? He gave up hope of slaying the crocodile a long time ago. Pan will never set him free.

Only five of his crew are left. Most were killed on Pan's island, and a few defected to join the strange, ageless natives who populate a few of the small islands around the heart of Neverland. Hook's been tempted to join them, himself. They've long since lost their passion for life—if they ever had it. They do not grow old, get sick, or have children. They traded the pleasures of the flesh for quiet contemplations of the sky, the water, and the jungles.

He once spent most of a decade with one tribe as they filled each day by watching saplings grow into trees, before he woke from the stupor and returned to the Jolly Roger with the last of his crew to scrape off the barnacles and clean out the bird's nests that had taken over his masts.

He understands why the natives live as they do. It's either that, or go mad like Pan and his boys.

But Hook can't find contentment with either option.

Instead, he and his loyal few drift the seas without aim or purpose. Waiting. Waiting for a freedom that will never come.

He lies on the deck at night, staring up at the moon, and he fancies that he sees Milah there, staring down at him.

The passion that animated their love affair is now nothing more than a pleasant memory that he visits from time to time in his dreams. He wonders if she truly wants him to avenge her at all, or if, perhaps, she'd be happier if he wrapped a few lengths of chain around his feet and let himself slip over the railing and into the embrace of the warm water below.

Then they could be together, in that shining moon. Perhaps he could be happy again. He barely remembers what happiness feels like.

His eyes linger on the store of chain longer with every passing day as the temptation grows. Some nights, staring up at the moon, he wonders what's holding him back.

_Tomorrow_ , he tells himself every night. He'll do it tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll find peace.

One of these nights he'll actually mean it.

And then, as if a typhoon has swept his ship to an unknown land, everything changes.

That evening Felix rows out to meet him and summons him to a meeting with Pan.

Hook knows by now that the consequences for dodging such a meeting are never worth it, so he comes. He and his loyal few all go, leaving the Jolly Roger anchored in a cove. If they die, they will all die. If they live, they'll live together. That's how they've lasted this long.

Pan smirks at them—he always smirks—and Hook merely sighs and slouches. He's tired of these games. So very tired.

Until he hears what Pan has to say.

He blinks a few times, trying to wrap his mind around what he's just heard. "Home? You're sending us home?"

Pan nods slowly, his eyes narrow and mocking. "I am."

Hook feels a lump in his throat. It's a trick. It has to be a trick. "What's your game?"

"My game is for me to know—not for you."

Hook swallows. His tattoo of Milah's name suddenly seems to burn, and he scratches at it with the outer curve of his hook as he thinks. "The crocodile—is he still—?"

"Alive?" interrupts Pan. He nods. "Very much so."

The embers of the long-dead fire in Hook's chest flare to life, and, almost unconsciously, his eyes look upward, searching for the moon. _I can finally make him pay, Milah._

Suddenly, unexpectedly, his life has purpose once more. That must be what he was waiting for, all those years. 

He swallows again. There's something more Milah would want. He almost doesn't dare ask—Pan's caprices are not to be taken for granted. But he owes it to her. His vengeance will be hollow without it. "The boy. Baelfire. Let me take him with me."

Pan laughs his low, wicked laugh. "I never realized you were so sentimental." He shakes his head. "Don't worry about the boy. I set him free two years ago. Sent him back to that land without magic that he loved so much."

Hook's eyes grow wide. Now this—this he can't believe.

"Does that surprise you?" Pan sneers. "Then I offer you proof. Come with me to the cave Baelfire called his home. Just you. Alone."

Hook's eyes meet those of his men each in turn, and they nod their quiet permission. He knows this may be the end of him, but he follows Pan anyway.

As they walk, Pan yammers on about the crocodile, telling Hook how to find his home. "He had the misfortune of falling in love not so long ago," says Pan, piquing Hook's interest. The crocodile in love? Poor woman.

"She had the good sense to leave him before he ruined her," continues Pan, "and he's a bit heartbroken at the moment."

This is enough to fan the fire in Hook's chest a little brighter. So the crocodile is in pain? All the better. His pain will make him weak. Vulnerable. This has to be real—not another of Pan's lies. He can't survive another lie.

"The girl—Belle—has since fallen into the hands of a queen by the name of Regina. Ask around any port you anchor at and someone will be able to direct you to her castle. Find a way in and make your way to the cell at the top of the tallest tower. That is where you will find Belle. She'll be the key to your crocodile's undoing."

Hook nods and breathes deep. He glances up at the moon overhead. If what Pan says is true, his purpose—his sole reason for living—is at hand. And so is his end. He'll finally slay his demon, and then find his own peace. He'll join his Milah in the heavens with the happy news that her death has at last been revenged.

Hook has been to Baelfire's cave a few times in the past, though the boy always spurned him and turned him away. But he's seen enough of it to recognize the neglect when he enters it again. A layer of dust covers the boy's belongings. Overturned bowls and cups litter the ground, and mold grows on the mattress.

It's true. Baelfire is gone. Hook looks up, searching for the moon, though the roof of the cave blocks his view. He hopes Milah shines down on her son, wherever he may be.

Hook coughs. "How do I know you really set him free? How do I know you didn't kill him?"

"You don't," says Pan flatly. "You have to trust me. You have no choice."

"That I don't," Hook mutters, nodding. He meets Pan's gaze. "Very well. Name your price. I know you'll not send us home without gaining something in return. What is it you want?"

Pan shrugs. "A simple thing. A mere trifle." He narrows his eyes, holding Hook's gaze. "When you return to the Enchanted Forest, only two of your men may go with you. The other three stay here."

Hook holds his breath. This is a price he never expected. He shakes his head. "We've been together for centuries—"

"And your chance for vengeance is finally at hand. Will you really pass that up for their sakes?"

Hook has no words. How can he do this? How can he choose to condemn three of his loyal companions to this hellish life? But the fire in his heart blazes hot once again, and the skin around his tattoo prickles, reminding him of his first commitment. "What will you do with them?"

"My boys are restless," says Pan. "I've promised them some sport. _A hunt_."

Hook grimaces and closes his eyes. He can't. Not to his men. But his Milah is waiting for him. As is the crocodile. How can he not?

He breaths slowly, thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Will this not finally bring peace, of a sort, to his men?

At last he speaks. "Promise me there will be no torture. Promise me they'll die quickly." He can't meet Pan's eyes.

"I promise."

Hook knows what to think of Pan's promises. But this is his only chance. His _final_ chance. What choice has he?

"Very well," he says in a low voice, staring at the marks on Baelfire's wall. "I accept."

When he returns to his men, he tells them the truth—that Pan will let only three of them leave. He can barely meet their eyes. The five men draw lots to determine who will join him aboard ship. Smee and Connor, one of Hook's companions from his days in the royal navy, draw the winning short lots. 

Hook meets the gaze of each of the losing three one last time and shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says, but makes no promises to return and offers them no assurances of safety. He can't lie to them. Not now. Not after the bargain he's struck. To do otherwise would be dishonorable. They don't plead or fight—they only nod with resignation in their eyes. They are just as weary as he.

Hook walks away and doesn't look back—not even when Pan's laughter trails after him.

He stands at the helm of the Jolly Roger, the wind rushing through his hair as he navigates the clouds, being lifted up by pixie dust and a nefarious shadow.

As he sails through the sky he watches the moon and prays to whatever gods might be listening that they'll guide his three men safely to rest among the stars. He'll see them soon enough. As soon as he's reunited with his Milah. As soon as the crocodile is dead.

By the light of his moon he lands in the ocean and drifts toward a port he hasn't visited in three centuries.

He is ready.


	2. The Enchanted Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the next phase of Hook's quest, he meets Emma Swan for the first time.

When they reach port, Hooks hands over a share of his treasure to Smee and Connor and tells them to leave. They have their freedom. He wants them to enjoy it. He isn't disappointed when neither of them offer to stay with him. They've suffered for his cause long enough. When he bids them farewell and watches them walk away he feels happy for the first time in three centuries.

He lifts his eyes to the moon and promises Milah that all the sacrifices will be worth it. He'll be with her soon enough.

It only takes him a few days to gather the information he needs to pursue the crocodile's woman, Belle. His disappointment is keen when, less than two weeks later, he faces her in her tower prison and learns that she has neither the intention nor the ability to aide him in his quest. He should have known that Pan wouldn't make things so simple for him. Normally he's loath to slay an unarmed foe, but her cries for help will doom him before he even leaves the castle. He's come too far for that. Besides, he convinces himself as he raises his hook, any woman foolish enough to love a monster deserves what she gets.

But before he can carry out the dastardly act, the witch queen stops him.

When he listens to her offer—a chance to kill the crocodile with his bare hand, no magic dagger needed, he feels compelled to accept. It will save him a great deal of trouble if he doesn't have to seek out the magic dagger. He wants this quest to be over, so he can find his peace at last.

But things are never that simple.

He goes from allying himself with one witch to allying with another in a matter of days, all to save his skin and further this quest which seems more and more impossible with every passing day. And then he waits—frozen in time for twenty-eight years. 

He's not happy about the delay, but he can't deny that it's the best rest he's had in over a century.

When he wakes—scrunching his forehead and frowning in momentary confusion—he feels reinvigorated. And utterly confused. "Was that it? Really? Twenty-eight years in the blink of an eye?"

"Really," says the dark witch Cora, rolling her eyes at him.

And so the quest begins again. This time there will be no stopping him.

When Cora sets him on his new quarry, he's happy to help. Infiltrate a bevy of lovely ladies? Gladly. He may be on this quest for the sake of his Milah, but that doesn't mean he's stopped appreciating a pretty face and a lovely body to go with it. They seem to be eating up his story without question. That is, until the blonde—Emma Swan—has her knife to his throat.

When she tells him that she has a knack for knowing when she's being lied to, he believes her. He can see the conviction in her face—he can feel the way she sees right through his deceptions.

No one has ever bested him this quickly—not even the crocodile. Hell, it even took Pan more than two centuries to wear him down to nothing. Soon enough Swan has him tied to a tree, her knife at his throat yet again, her eyes blazing with passion, and he feels as if he's staring into the sun.

Swan fascinates him like no one has in longer than he cares to admit, and once he convinces her to let him live, he's delighted to part ways with the witch and join Swan's company instead. In the end she may not prove any safer than Cora, but at least she can't turn him into a beetle and squash him with her boot. Besides—he likes her. This quest may be an ending for him, but it would be pleasant to go to his doom with some enjoyable companions at his side.

He's glad when she's the one to climb the beanstalk with him. He finds himself wanting to know her better—this fiery, sun-bright woman who seems as ill at ease in this life as he is.

They converse as they climb, and he feels a growing sense of kinship with her. This is a woman who knows pain. He can see the desperate loneliness in her eyes that he's felt in his heart every day since Liam died (not even Milah was able to completely erase it). Swan is nearly as lost and broken as he is—give her a few centuries in Neverland and they'll be two of a kind. She is also as driven as he is, only her goal is to rejoin her son. Pangs of old regrets fill his chest as he considers the possibility that her quest is more noble and worthy than his own. But in the end, it doesn't matter. They'll find their way together.

He smiles as her hair catches the fading sunlight, shining like a halo around her weary face.

This one is worth helping. Milah would've liked her.

He finds himself pestering her about love. Some part of him wants to know if she'd understand why he's on the path that he's on. But Swan closes up when he pushes too hard—clouds drifting over the light in her eyes. So he lets it go.

However, when they reach the courtyard of the giant's castle, after he binds her wound, she sees Milah's name emblazoned on his arm. Immediately she knows—she knows what the crocodile took from him and why he wants so badly to enter her realm. She doesn't probe or pry, but she does confess, quietly, that she too has loved. And though the sun-bright Swan speaks no more on the subject, he knows from the look on her face and the tone in her voice that her love ended no more happily than his.

He swallows hard and looks away from her. He hasn't felt such a rapid kinship with anyone since the day he met his love. He blinks away that thought. He can't allow himself to be distracted by a sudden infatuation. Not when his goal—his _sole purpose_ —is so close at hand.

And yet she continues to dazzle him, besting the giant not once, but twice, the second victory more spectacular than the first. When she comes to help pull him from a pile of rubble that had trapped him in the midst of the fray, he can't take his eyes off of her. She is truly amazing. He was right to equate her with the sun—she is certainly giving him a greater brightness of hope with every passing hour. A thrill runs through him when she takes his hand. It feels like a beginning of something new—something different—some brilliant new era of his life.

Until it all vanishes with the click of a manacle snapping around his wrist. The sun-bright Swan will not let herself trust him. She claims that he won't be left to his death, but if she can't believe him, how can he believe her?

He calls out after her as she walks away, hoping that something in his pleas will cause her to turn. But she doesn't look back. As she disappears from his view it feels as if the sun has set on the sudden new hope that had welled in his chest.

He curses himself for his foolishness, to be overwhelmed so quickly by a pretty face and a sad story. He knows better, damn it. He won't let this happen again.

Yet a part of his heart still aches, wondering what would have happened if she'd trusted him enough to let him come. Would their understanding of one another continue to grow? 

Even as he ponders the possibilities of what might have passed between them, he curses himself again. He stands on the precipice of avenging his Milah, yet now, after all this time, his heart has betrayed him. Why? Why must he be tantalized with the prospect of light and life and love when he was so ready to embrace death?

He wanted to move to his end, yet now he wants to move forward. It is disorienting and frustrating and maddening and hopeless all at once.

He manages to break the hinge on his manacle well before the end of the ten hour delay Swan sought to impose on him, and he rushes down the beanstalk as quickly as is safe, hoping to track the women and catch them unawares as they prepare to cross over to the other realm. Instead, he finds Cora waiting for him. 

He braces himself for death. The moon shines bright overhead. His Milah is waiting for him.

Instead, Cora decides to punish him with something far worse than death—abandonment. Failure.

He's come too far for it to end like this. He's overcome too much. His anger roils and seethes after the witch leaves him behind. Anger at Pan. Anger at Swan. Anger at Cora. Anger at the crocodile. But most of all, anger at himself. He came so close to betraying Milah's memory, and he's paying the price for that lapse.

He must find a way to Storybrooke. Nothing else can stand in his way. No sentiment—no infatuation—no compassion.

Hook abandons his plan to track Swan's party, knowing that the ache of losing that sudden burst of sunlight in his life has left him too raw and vulnerable. Instead he returns to the witch's lair, determined to either find a way back into her good graces, or to steal the tools he needs to travel to Storybrooke on his own.

There he finds a grander opportunity than he ever expected. Cora holds a member of Swan's company captive. And his hook is still enchanted.

He cannot resist the chance to play both sides—procuring a gift for Cora in the form of Aurora's heart, and sending a message to Swan all at once. If Emma felt even a fraction of the connection to him that he experienced to her, his words may yet influence her. And if not, there is always the witch. He no longer allows himself to care how he gets to the crocodile. All that matters is that he _does_.

When the witch finds him first, before he succeeds in contacting Swan again, his course his set. His side is chosen for him. And from what he can see, Cora's side will be the one to win, thanks to his gift. He tries not to let Cora's words sent through Aurora's mouth rub him raw, but hearing how close to the truth she strikes when she says that he cares for Emma still discomfits him. He should not feel anything for Swan. She left him. She abandoned him. He ought, by all accounts, to hate her.

Yet, later that day when he sees her desperate and trapped in the crocodile's cell, he is not happy at the sight. She is so passionate—so bright—even trapped in the dark cage.

He doesn't want to look at her. He doesn't want to remember that feeling of hope she gave him up on that beanstalk. He doesn't want her to deepen her hold on his heart.

Naturally she calls out to him after he turns to walk away. Naturally he can't help but turn back. What has this lass done to him?

She pleads for freedom for the sake of her son, and his heart aches for her in spite of himself. He can't let her get to him. Not again. He needs to be like stone. But then she insists that he would have betrayed her in the giant's castle if he'd been in her place, and the accusation cuts like a blade. It shouldn't. Her words shouldn't have this power over him. But they do. Enough power to draw the truth out of him.

"Actually no," he says, his anger rising. Why the hell did he let her get inside his head?

He holds up the withered bean that he filched from the giant and compares her to it. "The time for making deals is done," he insists, "just as I am done with you." 

As he walks away from her he knows that his speech was meant more to convince himself than to convince her. He also knows that it didn't work.

On the long hike to the witch's destination, he cannot help but hope that Emma finds a way out. That she and her friends find a way home.

But he cannot help her. His course his set, and vengeance will be his.

He grimaces with equal parts frustration and admiration when Swan reappears at the swirling heart of Lake Nostos. He fights for his life and his quest, as he always has, but in the face of Emma's brilliant passion he finds himself holding back. A part of him wants her to win.

When he at last has her on her back, at his mercy, he offers her a chance to give up. Not just for her sake, but for his. In spite of all his anger, he truly doesn't know if he can bring himself to harm her.

When he sees the compass in her hand he feels a moment of astonishment and—oddly enough—relief, before her blow sends him into the dark.

He blinks blurrily back to wakefulness just in time to see a bright wave of power crashing forth from Swan's chest, knocking Cora to the ground.

She truly is a child of the sun, to wield such power.

He smiles when she and her mother dive through the portal. She may have done him wrong—but she has proved a dozen times over that she deserves this victory. He can't help but feel glad for her, even as he feels frustrated for himself.

He hopes she will find her happiness.

Just as he hopes that his back-up plan will work. If the lake can revive the magic found in a pile of ashes, surely it can resurrect a bean?


End file.
